Tag: laugh

Negotiating with Cookies – Fleegle Leads Satsang

Published on by Raud KennedyLeave a comment

“What am I?” Fleegle asks.

“You’re a dog, silly.”

“My body is a dog, but what am I beyond that?”

“You’re a Labrador Retriever dog, one of the sporting breeds.”

“Yes, but beyond that?”

“Fleegle, you’re giving me brain strain. You’re a chocolate lab, and that’s all I’ve got.”

“But what tells my body to run and chew on sticks?”

“You do.”

“Yes, but who is that? What is that?”

I glance out the window to see if there are any squirrels at the bird feeder for him to chase away, but no luck. “You’re Fleegle.”

“A name, a thought, a breath passing across lips.”

“Fleegle, on our walk in the woods this morning, did you eat any strange mushrooms?”

“Why? Am I the mushroom and the soil it grows in?”

I shake my head in wonder.

“Who are you, Raud?”

“I’m the one who pays for the kibble.”

“But you are much more than that.”

“I also pay for the Chickie Puffs.”

As he ambles out of the room, he says, “Yes, but what are you beyond your actions? I point at the moon and you look at my paw.”

*   *   *

Later in the day I notice Fleegle sitting in the hall staring at the wall. “What are you up to?” I ask while wondering if a should ask at all.

“Meditating,” he says without looking at me as he continues to gaze at the wall.

“You are not. Dogs don’t meditate.”

“I am much more than a dog, and that which is more than a dog is meditating.”

I click on the hall light and take a closer look at the wall. I had a sandwich earlier for lunch and had been rushing through the house with it in my hand to answer the phone. I remember bumping into the wall. It never ceases to amaze me how much mess one person and a dog can make. And there it is at about shoulder height on the wall, a glob of mayonnaise. No wonder people used to live as nomads, surrender to the mess and move on.

“So you’re meditating on mayonnaise?” I ask.

“When it runs a little further down the wall within reach of my tongue, meditation will be over.” He glances up at me. “Or you could drag a chair over here for me to meditate on.”

“Yes, or I could go get the meditation sponge.”

“No, not the sponge, that would rush the mayonnaise and you mustn’t force the Tao when meditating.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – Marked

Published on by Raud Kennedy2 Comments

While standing around at the dog park, a little black Chihuahua named Toro runs over to me and lifts his leg to pee on my pant leg. He’s too fast and I’m too slow and he gets me, then before I can shake my pant leg off Fleegle is at my side lifting his leg on me.

“Hey, what the @#$%&! Fleegle.”

“But Toro peed on you.”

“Yeah, so now it’s okay for you to pee on me too?” I shake my head, always trying to add a physical gesture to the words for him, kind of like saying it in two languages. “I don’t think so.”

“But everyone will think you belong to Toro.” He makes a move to lift his leg on me again. “You belong to me.”

I dodge his approach. “Then think of me as your bed. You don’t pee on your bed, do you?”

“I would if Toro peed on it. Stop moving, you need to be marked.”

“I’ve already been marked and once is enough.”

Fleegle pauses, looking up at me all doe-eyed. “Does that mean you’re going home with Toro?”

“Yes, and I’m leaving you here to live in the park.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – Let’s Play Catch

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Fleegle is captivated watching a man talk to a woman companion at the dog park. “Look at that man talk while he eats. I can see him mash the raisins on his cookie between words. Boy, he’s losing a lot of food out of the side of his mouth. Let’s go stand by him.”

“No thanks. I was taught to chew my food with my mouth closed and only speak after I swallowed.”

“That’s very sensible of you, Raud, he’s only sharing his cookie in his own way. Instead of offering a piece of it to his friend, he’s spitting crumbs at her. Looks like a fun game. Will you spit crumbs at me?”

“No. That’s disgusting.”

“Raud, you need to loosen up and learn to laugh, especially when your mouth is full of food.”

“Like full of lima beans and broccoli?”

“Oh no, not broccoli, pizza, you could spit pepperoni slices at me. But that’s for later. You could start now with getting yourself a raisin cookie like that man.” His ears perk up as he glances over at him. “Ooo, did you see that? He just hit her in the forehead with a raisin. She needs to work on her catch. I totally would’ve gotten that.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – More Chickie Puffs

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Fleegle trots over to where I’m sitting at my desk and nose bumps my leg. “Raud, let’s go to the feed store.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, it’ll be fun.”

I stare at him, waiting for the full reason.

His ears go back. “Georgina is running low on Chickie Puffs.”

“No way. How can a three ounce chick eat her way through a five pound bag of Chickie Puffs in just two weeks?”

He avoids eye contact and says, “I’ve been teaching her to share.”

“Oh, have you now.”

“And Buck likes Chickie Puffs too.”

“Uh-huh, anyone else?”

“Well… You. You’ve been eating them every morning this week. I replaced some of your oatmeal with Chickie Puffs.”

“Replaced? You’ve been eating my oatmeal? Dry?”

“Yeah, you said horse ate oats and they have such long legs I thought your oatmeal would make me taller.” He looks down at his legs, then up at my face. “You enjoyed your Chickie Puffs this morning, didn’t you? Maybe we should get a ten pound bag this time.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – The Spotted Pig

Published on by Raud Kennedy3 Comments

“What’s this place?” Fleegle asks as I park the car in front of a pub with a giant pig hanging over the entrance.

“The Spotted Pig. They have a dog friendly patio for lunch.”

“What’s dog friendly?”

“They allow dogs, like Home Depot.”

“Oh, so they have hammers for me to pee on too?”

“No. No peeing once we go inside. If you have to pee you can take care of your business on the parking strip.”

There was once grass on the parking strip, but the dog trade killed it. Fleegle gives the dirt a sniff, then says, “You know how you always complain about the bathrooms at gas stations? I’m good. I don’t need to pee.”

We go through the gate to the patio around back and take a seat at a small table, all of which have water bowls next to them. A waitress arrives and fills my water glass and Fleegle’s water bowl, then hands me a menu. As I look over the menu, Fleegle drains his water bowl.

The waitress returns and refills it. “Thirsty dog. I’ll be back to take your order in a minute.”

Fleegle drains it again, burps, then sees me perusing the menu and asks, “What are we having? Do they have pizza? I smell pepperoni.”

“You’re getting the raw special with broccoli, and I’m having the shepherd’s pie.”

Fleegle rolls back on his haunches and tilts his head to the side. “I get broccoli and you get pie?”

“Yes.”

“In what world is that fair?”

“We’re definitely not in Fleegle World.”

Fleegle slowly shakes his head. “That’s for sure. In Fleegle World I’d be doing the ordering and you’d be sniffing the parking strip.”

When the waitress returns, he listens to me order with anticipation, ever hopeful for pizza, but when he hears broccoli his ears go forward with a determined look, then when the waitress heads back inside, he follows her.

I clear my throat. “Where do you think you’re going?”

With a grumpy look over his shoulder, he keeps walking and says, “I’m going to find out where they keep their hammers?”

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Negotiating with Cookies – Telekinesis

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Out in the backyard, I find a stick about two feet long and push one end into the lawn, then sit down cross-legged in front of it and begin staring at it.

Fleegle watches from his spot in the shade under the bamboo where he chews on a stick of his own. “Whatcha doing, Raud?”

“I had a dream last night where I could move things with my mind. I was a street performer and I made flags fly above the audience’s heads like magic carpets. The people loved it.”

“So you’re trying to move the stick by staring at it?”

I nod. “Yes, exactly.”

“Will we take a magic carpet to work instead of the car?”

“Maybe, if I can move this stick.”

“What you call a car, I call my kennel, my home away from home. A carpet isn’t going to give me the den-like feeling I like,” he says, gets up and grabs the stick out of the lawn. “You’re going to have to practice your mind powers with something else because every stick back here belongs to me, though I might part with one or two for the right price.”

“And what is the going cookie rate for a stick?”

 

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